


Thunders and Gentle Fall of Rain

by minervamason



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vikings, F/F, I Don't Know How To Use The Tags, I Mean I Based It On Vikings, Jarl Lexa, Not historically correct, Nothing too extreme, Nun Clarke, Romance, They're Vikings After All, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-05 00:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minervamason/pseuds/minervamason
Summary: 865, Wessex.While Viking's invasions rage in the English territory, Clarke Griffin, a young woman of noble origins decides to renounce to her titles to become a nun, to learn the healing arts. She thought she was ready to start a new life, but nothing could have prepared her to be kidnapped by the Vikings, ready to do anything to save their seriously injured Jarl. Catapulted into a culture completely different from hers, torn between curiosity and fear, Clarke will soon be fascinated by these mysterious people and their equally mysterious Jarl.





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Before the chapter, I have some notes about the story I would like you to read. First of all, this is a translation from my original story in Italian, so if anyone has suggestions for me to improve the language etc, it's very welcome! Also, as you see in the tags, this story is not going to be historically correct, I mean I did some research for some things I put on it but I'm not an expert at all so it's mainly based on the series Vikings. The story is completed so I'm going to try to post it regularly! I hope you'll like this first chapter and as always let me know what you think!

Clarke put the pestle on the table in front of her, mentally repeating the recipe for the ointment she was preparing. It was nothing complicated, just some healing herbs for the muscular pains that the village peasants complained about, yet it was a good excuse to skip the morning services. Not that Clarke didn’t like to pray, absolutely, but she thought that even for a convent there were way too many prayers, and she had always been a practical girl.

 

She had understood quickly enough that despite her social standing, her stepfather was a duke after all, she wouldn’t be allowed to learn anything about what she was most passionate about. She wanted to be a healer, to help people, but from a bridesmaid like her no one pretended anything more than a marriage of convenience and procreation, so in her mind they had immediately distinguished two possibilities.

 

Make her parents happy by marrying some unpleasant count, being a wife and a devoted mother, living in ignorance as it was typical of her class and not being too troubled. Or, and as much as the idea annoyed her, it turned out to be the best solution, to pretend the divine call and beg her mother to be sent to a convent.

 

Now, Clarke had always been a good Christian, so she had been taught, but it had never crossed her mind to be a nun. At least until she had stumbled, on one of her trips with her mother, in a convent that housed a vast library, and in which women were taught to read. From that moment renouncing her titles and future marriage duties had not been a very difficult decision and, despite her mother's protests, Clarke had managed to persuade her stepfather to send her to live there, in a remote village on the east coast of Wessex.

 

It wasn’t so bad, Clarke was convinced of it. She was more free in that convent than she had been in her castle; she was allowed to read, learn the art of healing, talk to the villagers who came to see her and the sisters looking for help, even strolling near the beach in her free time: truth be told, Clarke consider herself very lucky.

Or at least, so she had considered herself, until that morning when she heard the dull sound of the village bells ringing as loud as they could, a sound that could be indicating only one thing: Vikings.

 

Clarke had heard of those barbarians from merchants from the south, but no one would have expected them to come so far to plunder a village as small as theirs. Clarke abandoned her medications and ran to the small church, finding her sisters in a complete panic: even savages like the Vikings knew that the most precious treasures that a village possessed were kept hidden in the church, however humble their community might be.

 

There was no place to hide, and in the faces of the women Clarke had begun to regard as a small family she could only read despair: if they had been captured, the worst was waiting for them. The lump in the throat that Clarke had felt since the bells had resounded around her tightened even more, blocking her breath.

 

The church door had been bolted, but it wasn’t going to be enough to stop the barbaric horde that, Clarke was sure, was about to fall on them. Only a few minutes passed before the door began to creak, employed in a lost battle against some kind of siege weapon, and Clarke felt her heart beating wildly at the idea of what would happen next: was she going die pierced by a sword? Or would they capture her, rape her, sold her as a slave? At the thought of the second option, Clarke understood that she would rather die.

 

The wood creaked sadly one last time before it broke, and the cries of her sisters echoed in Clarke's mind like a storm: it was over. She closed her eyes, preparing to face the worst, but when she heard the cries around her fell silent, she looked up, widening her eyes when she could see what had made her companions fall silent.

 

There was no horde, not visible at least, but only a woman before what remained of the entrance to the church. She was a tall woman with features Clarke had never seen before, looking terrible and threatening, her light hair gathered in a braid, her face colored with white paint that surrounded her piercing light brown eyes. She wore a simple leather armor, which left her arms uncovered, decorated with tribal tattoos that Clarke found herself, despite everything, admiring.

 

The woman wasn’t holding any weapon, and Clarke thought with curiosity that she must have come in peace, which was totally unexpected, given the way in which they had destroyed the entrance to the church. If this was for them to come in peace, she wondered with terror how it would have been otherwise. The woman silenced the men outside the church with a sharp movement of her hand and took a step forward, peering at the spectacle in front of her with a penetrating and vaguely disgusted look. When she spoke she did it in their own language, and despite the strong accent, Clarke could understand her words very well.

 

"We come in ... peace. We have been told there are healers here. We need help, our Jarl is seriously injured. "

 

Clarke felt her heartbeat raising; as far as she knew, only two of them knew the medical arts in the convent: her and the parish priest, who had taught her without too much effort what she knew, letting her finish her education on the books. The man in question stepped forward, and Clarke admired his courage.

 

"She ... she is our healer." The man pointed at her with a trembling hand and Clarke looked at him in shock. That coward worm. The viking woman seemed to think the same, because she walked toward him with fire in her eyes. “If I weren’t on a mission little man… I would have slain your throat for your cowardice.” 

 

The priest became even smaller, crouched on himself like a dying insect. The warrior turned her head toward her, to stared at her with disturbing intensity, and Clarke found herself shaking from head to toe in front of her gaze. The fact that she was a woman did not seem to make her less lethal, on the contrary. She approached Clarke with firm steps, looking at her with interest.

 

"Come with me." It wasn’t a question, that was clear, and Clarke didn’t understand what was wrong with her when she heard herself reply "What if I don’t want to?"

 

  
The woman, who had already retrace her steps, turned around with a spark of fun in her eyes and approached her with a smile "If you don’t come with me, if you disobey me, if you let my Jarl die, then my men will set fire to your little village. With all your friends in it." The woman pronounced those words with the simplicity of those who discussed the crop of the previous year, and a cold shiver ran Clarke from head to toe.

 

"Let me take my medicine. Then I will follow you where you want." The woman was silent for a moment before nodding and Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t dead, not yet.

 

 

*****

 

 

The Viking woman walked fast and decisively, too much for Clarke, who could barely keep up with her and her men with her long nun robe  "Move! My Jarl is very sick."

 

She didn’t even turn to say it, and Clarke tried to speed up the pace; the woman did not seem intent on hurting her, but it was always better not to take risks. "What's a Jarl?" Clarke bit her tongue, but that question had been buzzing in her head since she first heard that term.

 

The woman stopped for a moment, gazing at her with a look of fire, but then she resumed walking, shaking her head "It's like your lord. Our chief, our commander. "

 

Clarke nodded, she had expected something like that. For a moment she wondered who dared to give orders to a woman so threatening, feeling a shiver at the thought of what was waiting for her later. 

 

"And what happened to your Jarl?" The woman stopped again, her hand on the sword hilt "You ask too many questions, nun." She said the last word as an insult, and Clarke felt the anger mount inside of she. No matter how threatening she was, that woman had no right to treat her like that.

 

"My name is Clarke, and don’t you think I can cure your precious Jarl better if you tell me what happened to him?" The woman really seemed about to draw her sword, to hit her, but in the end she seemed to hold back "You're lucky I need you alive. My Jarl was hit by an arrow a few days ago. The wound didn’t look serious, but it got infected, and now it's feverish. We lost our healer in the last fight, and none of us was able to do anything. "

 

Clarke nodded, hoping in her heart that it was not too late to save the man. She was probably going to die anyway, but maybe she could save the village. They began to walk in silence, descending more and more towards the bay, and Clarke realized that the vikings must have had their camp near their ships. She had heard that the vikings were primitive and barbarous people, but as far as navigation was concerned, they couldn’t be beaten.

 

Clarke realized that for the moment she was safe, since she was still alive and well, so she tried to exploit that opportunity as best as she could "So what's your name?" The woman said something in her language, something that Clarke interpreted as an imprecation "Do you never shut up?"

 

"I could need it. If I had to ask you to help me while I treat your Jarl, I'll know what name to call." The woman stared at her with obvious annoyance before shaking her head “My name is Anya."

 

Clarke nodded and her fear seemed to decrease some more. She felt almost reassured talking with Anya, almost as a chat could stop the warrior from killing her "And tell me Anya, is it normal for a woman to fight amongst barbarians?" At that question Anya's face relaxed in a small smile "Viking women are not as weak as English women. We can do everything men do, and we do it better. "

 

They were walking next to the forest that surrounded the village, and Clarke thought about the many times she had walked that same path during the last two years, about how different her feeling back then had been compared to that moment.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the new scenario that opened before her: they had arrived at the camp. The tents were distributed in the narrow strip of land that separated the forest from the beach, and not far from there Clarke could clearly see the vikings ships, waiting for them in the sea. Anya squeezed her arm tightly, looking into her eyes. "I hope you're good at healing as you are with talking, nun. Otherwise it will be a real pleasure for me to remove your tongue. "

 

That silenced Clarke completely for the rest of the journey, and she prepared herself mentally for what awaited her. She was going to examine the wound first, trying to figure out how bad the infection was, hoping it hadn’t already corrupted the blood. Anya led her to the largest tent of the camp, and Clarke felt on her the eyes of all the men and women who inhabited it.

 

Her mind worked very fast, trying to devise a way to heal the Jarl and be able to leave the camp unharmed, but every thought of her was abruptly interrupted when she entered her patient's tent. She had expected a mighty man, a threatening viking, but what she saw before her was none of it.

 

On the improvised bed in the middle of the tent lied a woman, not much older than Clarke, looking battered. Her skin was sweaty and pale, typical symptoms of fever, and she visibly trembled even under the various layers of fur that someone had placed on her. The only parts that seemed alive of her emaciated face were her eyes, of an intense and shining green, which rested on Clarke as soon as she stepped into the tent.

 

Anya went to the bed and knelt down, her eyes suddenly worried. The two exchanged a few words in their language, then the woman returned to look at her, a curious expression on her face that jarred with her health conditions.

 

"Welcome." Her accent was less pronounced than Anya's, her voice thin but secure at the same time, and Clarke found herself approaching to hear her better "Anya told me you can help me." Clarke nodded, although she could see that the woman's condition was not the best "I can try. I will do my best…"

 

"You better do it ..." Anya glared at her, but the woman put a trembling hand on her warrior's shoulder "Don’t listen to Anya, I’m aware that my condition is critical. Anya promised me that if I were to die she will take you back to your village safe and sound."

 

Clarke didn’t know whether or not to trust the woman's words. But the fact that she had told her that now, even before she had examined her, made her feel more confident about her fate "I have to examine the wound."

 

The woman nodded, trying to sit down with Anya's help, and Clarke walked over to her, waiting to see the reason she was there. The woman took off the fur that covered her, revealing a battered bandage on her right shoulder. Clarke put her bag next to the bed, and Anya reluctantly moved to let her examine the wound.

 

The Jarl had to notice Clarke's worried expression when she saw the actual wound, because she sighed deeply. "Is it very bad?" The wound gave off a terrible smell, and the skin flaps that should have been reunited to close it were still separate, with a grayish color that jarred with the redness and swelling of the rest of the shoulder. Everything was covered with pus and coagulated blood and Clarke found herself distorting her lips in disgust. It was one of the ugliest wounds she had ever seen.

 

"It's bad. At this point the skin is rotting. I have to wash it all and remove all the infected tissue. The infection doesn’t seem to have spread yet, this is good. But we must act quickly. Anya, bring me some hot water with salt, or some wine if you have any and clean bandages." Anya stood up without replying, but Clarke's voice stopped her just before she came out of the tent “And a knife. Bring me a sharp knife.”

 

Anya rushed out and Clarke was left alone with her patient, who looked at her with interest "It will be painful." Clarke knew it was a euphemism, it was going be terrible. The woman nodded "Thank you..." She looked at her with curiosity and Clarke admired her strength; how could she be so calm in front of the prospects that such a wound gave her? "Clarke ... my name is Clarke."

 

"Clarke ..." She said it strangely, accentuating the k in what seemed to be the typical accent of their land, and Clarke felt a shiver running through her at the unknown sound "My name is Lexa. Jarl Lexa."

 

"Well, Jarl Lexa, let's try to keep you alive until tomorrow."

 

 

*****

 

 

It took Clarke a couple of hours to finish the job, leaving Lexa's wound, now clean and looking healthier, wrapped tightly with a clean bandage. Clarke had been stunned by Lexa’s strength. She had watched her clean the wound almost without batting an eyelid, despite the pain that was supposed to cause her. She had fainted later, when Clarke had begun to remove the flaps of infected skin around her wound with the white-hot blade, and she had been glad of that. She struggled to work with those green eyes that stared at her intensely. She had tried to close the wound as best she could, sprinkling it with ointment, hoping that those and herbs she had previously made her drink were enough to make her fever pass.

 

She ran a hand over the woman forehead, which now seemed less hot, and hoped it was not just an impression dictated by the desire to get out of that situation. Though Lexa's words had encouraged her, she wasn’t sure if Anya would actually be true to her words.

 

"She cannot die." Anya's voice behind her made her jump, she hadn’t realized she was being watched. "Not now, not after all we've sacrificed to get here. Do you know why she let the wound get infected? "

 

Clarke shook her head, remaining silent for fear that the woman would stop talking. "After the battle, she wanted to go personally to King Wallace to discuss the terms of peace. She didn’t hear reasons. And when we came back to the camp she was already feeling bad ... Damn stubborn. If she dies here it will be the end for our peace with the king, and chaos will descend on our lands. It was only her that kept the covenants alive with the other clans…” 

 

Anya looked up at her, as if she really noticed her for the first time "I don’t even know why I'm telling you this. You probably hope that she dies, like all of us barbarians."

 

Clarke looked at her in the eye, holding her gaze for a long time. "I could say yes, but it's not true. And not because I fear for my safety, but because it is my duty to help anyone who needs it. Regardless of who they are, or what side of the battlefield they decide to die. I have done everything possible to help her, now she’s in the hands of God. "

 

Anya snorted, shaking her head, even though Clarke seemed to see a flash of what could be respect in her eyes "Being in the hands of your God for a viking is worse than death. If you want to pray for someone to protect her, pray Eir. "

 

Clarke remained silent then, looking at Anya with curiosity, without daring to open her mouth again, but the woman seemed to understand her unspoken question, because she resumed talking "Eir is one of our goddesses. She's a Valkyrie with healing powers ... they say she can resurrect the dead, but let’s hope we don’t have to go that far with Lexa. She’s the one who has transmitted the art of healing to women and ... "

 

"Wait a minute, can women be healers among vikings? And you don’t burn them out for witchcraft?” Clarke could not help herself.

 

“Of course. I have no idea what that word is, I don’t know your language very well.” Anya looked at her as if what she had just said about women was an obvious thing, and Clarke sighed “Maybe you’re not as barbarian as I thought.”

 

Anya looked at her for a moment “You're a strange woman, nun. I hope Lexa survives, so I won’t have to kill you.” Clarke couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but then Anya stood up, leaving her alone in the tent, in the company of Lexa's regular breathing. Clarke knew she had a long night ahead of her, and she began seriously to pray for the life of that viking woman; for safety, she also said a little pray to this Eir goddess.

 

 

*****

 

 

“She's still sleeping.” Clarke got up from where she'd been checking Lexa all night to meet Anya, who had entered the tent with the first rays of the sun. “At one point she had a high fever tonight, and she started to tremble.” It had been really terrible, Clarke had believed more than once that Lexa was on the point of dying, but incredibly she was still among them “Now the fever has subsided, I managed to make her drink something, it seems that the infusion is working. I think now she just needs care and rest.”

 

Anya folded her arms around her chest and looked at her with relief “Very well, thank you, Clarke.” It was the first time she used her name, and she could not hold back a certain feeling of pride, no matter how absurd it might seem. “Unfortunately, she will not be able to enjoy much rest, a messenger from our village has arrived, we must return as soon as possible, we leave now.”

 

Clarke opened her mouth, upset “I've just spent a whole night keeping your damn Jarl alive, you cannot take her on a ship and hope she doesn’t get worse! I told you, she needs care and rest.”

 

Anya didn’t seem in the least bit worried about Clarke's outburst, because she only smiled mischievously. “I understand. Because of this, since we can’t give her rest, she will have the best care we can give her. You are coming with us.”

 

All the fire that had animated Clarke until a few seconds before suddenly disappeared as the girl felt the earth collapse under her feet “I ... what?”


	2. Chapter II

"Clarke"

  
  


Clarke awoke abruptly, noting with great disappointment that she was still on the Viking ship No, it hadn’t been just a bad dream. She had spent the day before throwing up, shaken by seasickness. The thing seemed to have made all her shipmates die of laughter, but she was exhausted.

  
  


Yet her exhaustion gave way to amazement when she saw who was talking to her: Lexa. After having slept continuously for almost a day, now she seemed lucid and restless as she looked at her from the cot that her men had built for her before leaving, every sign of the fever gone.

  
  


"You know, for a moment I thought you were a Valkyrie, coming to take me to Valhalla ..." Clarke didn’t understand half of the words Lexa said, but smiled nonetheless at her tone "I'm glad you're real." They stared at each other for a few seconds, until Lexa seemed to notice the place where they were "We are at sea?"

  
  


"Yes... we left yesterday." Clarke was trying not to think about it too much, to avoid another wave of vomit "And why are you still here? You didn’t want to go back to your village?" Lexa looked honestly worried, and Clarke laughed "I would have gone back immediately if your guard dog hadn’t kidnapped me."

  
  


Lexa's face opened in a startled expression "Anya!" The woman, sitting not far from them, immediately stood up when she heard Lexa's voice "Lexa, it was time for you to wake up..." Despite the teasing tone, Clarke noticed relief and joy in Anya's eyes "Clarke told me you forced her to follow us..." Anya glared at Clarke before answering "You were still unconscious... It was the best thing I could do."

  
  


Lexa began to speak in their mother tongue and Anya replied in an increasingly annoying way. Beyond their roles, there seemed to be a deeper relationship between the two women, which allowed Anya to address Lexa as if she were not her commander. After some other exchanges between the two, Anya went away irritated and Lexa let herself go on the cot, evidently exhausted by that minimal effort.

  
  


"You know... Anya is my cousin." Clarke looked at her in surprise "My father and her mother were siblings, his father was a silk merchant, from a country in the east so far that no one knew his name. He disappeared even before he knew that he was leaving a child behind. We grew up together as sisters."

  
  


"Is that why she’s talking to you as if you were not her... Jarl?" Lexa laughed "It's Jarl." She accentuated the r and Clarke laughed, taking in the absurdity of being taught the Viking language by a warlord? It was incredible how in a situation where she felt constantly scared, in danger, she could feel also so thrilled."And yes, it is also for this... But more than anything because we have always fought side by side... She is an impetuous woman, but a loyal one."

  
  


"Is she really the impetuous one? I heard you stood before King Wallace with the arrow still stuck in your shoulder." Clarke felt mildly pleased with the faint blush that appeared on Lexa's cheeks. "People that fight more than anyone else should recognize the value of peace. I know it well, I could not risk it..."

  
  


"I bet you must have made a great impression on old King Wallace" Clarke vaguely remembered him from one of her trips to the court with her mother and her stepfather. He was an old and quiet man, but with the mischievous look of those who had seen, and done, many things. Clarke especially remembered his son, Prince Cage, who had tried to persuade her to accompany him to his rooms several times, even though she was only fourteen at the time.

  
  


"Did you know him?" Lexa's expression seemed more surprised than curious, and Clarke nodded "You’re not a princess, aren’t you?" The woman's tone was playful, but her smile faltered as she saw Clarke's expression "I'm a duchess... Or at least, I should have been." Lexa's face suddenly turned dark "Anya!" she exclaimed again, and she reached her in a moment, an annoyed expression on her face.

  
  


“A little less than a day after having made a fragile alliance with a powerful adversary, we return to his territory, alarm the people of one of his villages and kidnap one of their nobles? How could you do such a stupid thing?" Anya's eyes grew more alarmed as she passed her gaze from Lexa to Clarke "She's not a noble... She's a nun, I found her in a convent."

  
  


"I’m the stepdaughter of Duke Marcus Kane, who oversees the eastern part of Wessex on behalf of the king. And I'm also a nun, that part is true." Clarke watched Lexa react with curiosity to those words "And why should a duchess ever want to become a nun?".

Anya spoke something in their language and Clarke saw Lexa blush slightly as she looked away from her. "What did you say?" Anya looked at her with a sly smile "I told Lexal that nuns cannot have sex... Isn’t that true?" Clarke forced herself not to blush in turn without great success, and merely nodded.

  
  


"Have you been obliged?" Lexa's voice was somehow kind, and Clarke had to remember for the umpteenth time in a few minutes that she was talking to what was in effect the commander of a horde of barbarians, a population who she was taught to fear and hate, not a friend. "No. I chose to enter the convent to be able to study." 

 

Clarke had not given much thought at the time about what her choice might mean for her love life, not that she had ever had a love life outside of the suitors who came to her stepfather to ask her the hand. She had always rejected them all, having no desire for them, not to mention feelings.

  
  


"So it's not possible for the British to have sex and study at the same time?" "Anya..." "What? I'm curious!" Lexa gave her a look of fire and the woman took it as a signal to leave again, but Lexa stopped her with a wave of her hand "Let’s just hope they’re not going to send an army after us... in that case you will have to stop them, Anya."

  
  


Anya pulled away snorting and Clarke. Despite trying to concentrate on the vastness of the sea around her, she could feel Lexa's penetrating gaze on her. There was something about Lexa that attracted her, a kind of aura that surrounded her, making her different from all the other people Clarke had met in her life. Apparently she looked calm and thoughtful, but Clarke had noticed several times the storm of emotions hiding in her eyes, and she was intrigued by it.

  
  


She tried to drive away that thought, admiring the environment around her, so new and vast. The sea was calm around them, enveloping anything that Clarke's eye could graze. She had never been on a boat for so long, she had never ventured so far that she could no longer see the mainland. The wind blew lightly inflating the blue sail like the sky above her, and not far from them she could see the sails of the other boats that followed them slipping fast on the water.

  
  


"You were very brave, doing what you did." Clarke looked at her without understanding, and Lexa bent her lips in a hint of a smile "You gave up your social position for something you love... It's not for everyone... it must be hard for a woman like you to live according to their rules."

 

Clarke looked at her slightly surprised "You seem to know a lot about our rules... and our language. May I ask you why?" Lexa got up slightly then, trying to lean on the dark wood of the ship "I have to thank a woman for it, actually. Her name is Indra. Many years ago she was captured by the French during the wars against the Arabs for the control of Spain, when she was still a girl, after her nomadic tribe was completely destroyed. She was sold to an English nobleman, who brought her to England, where she spent half her life working as a servant... When the Vikings began raiding in England, she was captured again and sold as a slave in my village, where my father bought her." Clarke listened to Lexa's story, unable to even imagine what it must have been like for Indra to have such a life.

  
  


"Your father was a Jarl?" Lexa shook her head "My father was a farmer. But he never liked to enslave people, and he told Indra she was free. He knew right away that she was a resourceful woman, so he offered her to stay and to teach me your language, thinking it would come in handy when we went to farm English lands, as old Jarl had promised. That is why I can talk to you Clarke, and Anya like me, and many other of my men... I wanted them to learn it. Knowing your enemy is the first step towards victory."

  
  


"But now you have made peace with our king... why?" Lexa stared at the horizon for a long time before answering "We fought for years against your people, we destroyed villages, stole your treasures, enriched our village... But I want more for my people. My father taught me to recognize a fertile land when I walk on it, and your land... it's something we can only dream of. I want my people to prosper, even in your territory. My generals believed that the best way to conquer the territories was to fight... "

  
  


"But you made an alliance with Wallace, promising him the end of the assaults in exchange for a territory in which to establish." Lexa nodded, pleased to see that Clarke's mind worked at the same speed as hers "Exactly. Wallace has consented to my requests, and very soon we will be ready to transfer some of our communities."

  
  


Clarke remained silent for a long time, her mind at the mercy of a thousand thoughts about what Lexa had just told her. In the end, trying to break the silence between them, she asked the question that was buzzing in her head from the moment Lexa had spoken, even though she feared she knew the answer already, inadvertently leaked by Lexa's bright eyes. “What about the old Jarl?"

  
  


The woman looked up to stare at her so hard that for a moment Clarke could not take a breath "I killed him."

  
  


The ship swayed louder beneath them, and Clarke felt sick again: it was going to be a long journey.

 

 

*****

 

 

Lexa watched Clarke sleep for a long time that night, when she finally managed to get to sleep despite the violent movements of the waves around them. It was no accident that she had mistaken her for a Valkyrie during her feverish delirium, her long blond hair and her big blue eyes reminded her of the descriptions of the noble Viking warriors her father loved to tell when she was a child.

Her face was serene in her sleep, though Lexa noted with interest that every now and then the girl's body was shaken by tremors, as if she were dreaming. Clarke had to be younger than Lexa by a few years, a girl more than a woman, yet Lexa had noticed how mature she was, with a strong spirit that she had rarely found, even among her people.

  
  


They had talked scarcely after Lexa's confession, as if hearing her tell of her rise to power had reminded Clarke where, and in whose company she was. Lexa was surprised when Clarke spoke to her again, telling her it was time to change her bandages. Clarke had been methodical and meticulous in the procedure, trying not to hurt Lexa more than necessary.  More than for the pain, Lexa was worried about the way her body reacted to the girl's touch. It had been years since Lexa had such contact with anyone, and although her mind knew how inappropriate it was, her traitorous body did not stop her from feeling a chill every time her skin and Clarke's touched.

  
  


"You should sleep instead of fantasizing about our little nun..." Lexa jumped at hearing her cousin's voice, looking away from Clarke to meet Anya's amused expression "Even if I have to admit she's cute, for an English..."

  
  


Lexa shrugged, feigning indifference, changing the subject "You still have not told me why we left in a hurry... We had planned to stay in England at least another week." Anya's expression became dark, and Lexa realized that something serious must have happened "I was waiting for the right moment to tell you. The night Clarke treated you... A messenger from Polis arrived, bringing bad news."

  
  


Lexa closed her eyes, breathing deeply "It's Nia, right?"

  
  


Anya nodded "Her son Roan and his men have conquered the city and killed all the men we had left to protect it. Nia arrived a few days later, declaring herself the new Jarl... Gustus managed to escape with some men and sent a messenger to warn us, but the situation is serious... We have to take back the city before they organize effective defenses."

  
  


Lexa nodded, unable to speak, the anger that closed her throat "Raven?" Anya shook her head, a worried expression on her face "Gustus’ men said they haven’t seen her since the attack. The others are safe." Lexa raised her arm and put her hand on her cousin’s, briefly tightening it "We'll take back Polis Anya... Nia will pay this time."

  
  


Anya nodded "I just hope the wind continues to favor us. We don’t have a minute to lose."

  
  


 

*****

 

 

It took them almost a week to arrive in sight of Lexa’s village. Even though she tried, Clarke hadn’t been able to keep the almost dead silence that lasted no longer than a day after her discussion with Lexa. Her curiosity was too strong and she had soon started asking questions about anything that came to her mind.

  
  


Part of her struggled to reconcile the image she could see of Lexa, of a calm, thoughtful person with that of a bloodthirsty warrior. Yet she knew that there was no other way. To have arrived where she was, Lexa's hands could only have been stained with blood. And though Lexa's men had been kind to her during her stay on the ship, she knew very well what they were capable of. She had heard stories of the destruction and massacres they had perpetrated on her land for years, and she couldn’t afford to let her guard down for any reason.

  
  


Although these thoughts were always clear in her mind, having never been in a similar situation, Clarke let her curiosity get the better of the fear she felt towards these people, and since Lexa seemed willing to dispel all her doubts, she took advantage of it.

  
  


Never in her life had she imagined what a profound and rich culture could be hidden behind the people that were simply called barbarians and, sitting on that ship in an indefinite point of the sea, headed towards who knows where, she wondered how many rumors she had heard about the Vikings were true.

  
  


She listened enchanted while Lexa and occasionally Anya, even if she pretended not to be interested in her, told her about Odin and her son Thor, and how his anger made the earth tremble with lightning and thunder, about the deceptions of Loki, Freya and her chariot pulled by snowcats (Clarke had laughed at this, for this religion seemed so much more bizarre than hers), the shieldmaidens, how they fought like men, like Lexa and Anya, Yule and ritual celebrations with they used every spring to blessed the harvest.

  
  


There was something very similar to the old legends that populated her land, centuries before Christianity also arrived there, in a place so far from the Holy Land, legends that Clarke had heard whispered in the cold winter nights by old women who worked in the kitchens. There was an aura of magic, an unpronounceable word in her village, which adorned everything Lexa told her, that adorned Lexa herself. There was something in her look, in her mannerisms, that made her more like one of the heroes of her stories than a mere woman.

  
  


Every day Clarke cleaned her wound, which was slowly healing, and as the days passed Clarke realized she wanted that moment to come, only to touch her again. Of course, it was not the first time that she had found a woman attractive. Even if she had never told anyone, too afraid to have made that attraction into a coherent thought in her mind, she knew that with Lexa it was something entirely different. 

 

She knew nothing about her, except that she was a warrior, a cunning commander, but the fear Clarke should have been feeling was mitigated by the calm expression in Lexa's eyes, her gentle voice, the slight tremor of her skin every time Clarke touched her.

  
  


"Winter is coming" Lexa looked at the dark rock cliffs in front of them, tall and imposing as Clarke had never seen them while the boats were heading towards the fjord that, Lexa had confirmed her earlier, housed her village.

  
  


She looked at Lexa, not quite understanding what she meant. Lexa looked at her doubtful expression for a second before resuming talking. "Winters here are not as kind as in England. We must return to the city before the frost hits us, otherwise I risk losing all my men."

  
  


Clarke felt a cold chill at the thought of what awaited her once they landed. Lexa hadn’t told her much, only that they would have to fight to recover her village that had been occupied by another clan. "This Nia... do you know her?" Clarke asked out of curiosity, but she realized that she had made a mistake when she saw the expression in Lexa's eyes, full of pure and simple hatred.

 

"We have history. Her husband... her husband was the Jarl I told you about." Clarke nodded, remembering perfectly the conversation they had had a few days before.

  
  


"They... they didn’t like my father, and the rumors that spread in the village. He had complained several times about the taxes that their family demanded to organize an expedition to England, without doing anything. There was something shady in their way of doing business, trading in slaves, which my father didn’t find right. They made money and merchandise disappear, for unknown reasons, and he tried to stop it, or at least talk about it. In response to all this, Nia's family found it right to burn my farm, with my family inside."

  
  


Lexa kept her eyes fixed on the sea in front of them all the time, but Clarke didn’t miss the tremor in her voice "I, Indra and Anya were saved because at that moment we were in the north fighting a rival clan. When I came back to my house, nothing was left but ashes... I buried the bones of my loved ones and went to challenge the Jarl to a duel. He was strong... but not as strong as my desire for revenge. I killed him and the title became mine."

  
  


Lexa turned at that moment, looking at Clarke in the eyes "I never wanted to be more than I was... But I had no choice." Clarke could understand very well what Lexa felt at that moment, the awareness of having to make desperate choices to reach your objective "Why didn’t you kill Nia then?"

  
  


Lexa shook her head, as if she had asked herself that question over and over. "She didn’t seem to be involved in her husband's plans, at least not at that time... Later on, they told me that it was her that had ordered my parents death. But at that time she begged me to spare her and her son and... no matter how barbarian you think I am Clarke, I feel no joy in killing, even when it proves necessary."

  
  


Clarke looked away, embarrassed "I never said that." "Anya told me that you consider us barbarians... I can understand that after the way you were ripped from your house. I’m very sorry for what happened to you... But we are Vikings, and our laws tell us to take what we want."

  
  


"And you think it's right?" The note of disappointment in her voice didn’t go unnoticed to Lexa, but she remained impassive "It's not important. It is our way of life." 

 

"So now you will send your men to die in battle just because this is your way of life? You have made a peace deal with King Wallace so as not to sacrifice lives unnecessarily, but here you are now, willing to do it in your own house? Against men who belong to your own community? Can’t there be a better solution?"

  
  


Clarke had spoken impulsively, without thinking too much about her words, and hoped she hadn’t pulled the rope too hard, but Lexa just stared at her for a long time, as if she were carefully pondering what she had said; unable to sustain her gaze again, Clarke lowered her eyes. "Not this time Clarke. Nia burned my house, the people I loved, and now she took my throne. Blood must have blood."

  
  


That sentence remained etched in Clarke's mind, as did the threatening expression of Lexa's eyes as she spoke it. She wanted to say something, but nothing could have changed Lexa's mind at the time. The woman turned to stare at the beach they were fast approaching, and her expression changed when she saw the solitary figure making broad gestures with her arms in their direction "That’s Gustus, one of my generals... He will tell us more about Nia's plans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back again a little later than expected, sorry but I was in Amsterdam last week and then I started the night shift so my brain was a little out of phase XD! I hope you liked this second chapter even if it's mostly a preamble to things that are coming next! As usual, let me know what you think about it and thank you for all the comments and the kudos ;)


	3. Chapter III

They landed with impressive speed for such a large number of people, and when Clarke touched the ground again she almost burst into tears of joy. She didn't think she could miss to have something solid under her feet so much. Anya looked at her with amusement as she sat on the fine wet sand with a dreamy expression, and said something in her language that Clarke had already heard before, the day Anya had taken her away from the convent.

"If you were wondering what it means, nun, this is how we said idiot."

 

 

Gustus was a giant man, with a thick black beard and menacing tattoos that reminded Clarke of the ones she had seen on Anya's arms, lines and tribal circles with an exotic look. Despite the fear she felt at his sight, when he turned to Clarke he did it in a gentle tone. "Anya told me you saved Lexa's life. I'm grateful." 

He had a deep voice and a very pronounced accent that Clarke found almost hilarious, but she merely smiled and nodded, hoping that saving Lexa's life was enough to keep her safe in that foreign land.

 

 

They walked in the forest for a long time. Lexa had disappeared a while before, probably to be updated on the situation, and Clarke suddenly found herself alone among unknown men and women, in a forest that had nothing to do with those of her childhood, in a foreign land that could be fatal to her. Everything around her was green, the tall trees that accompanied the path, the dark moss on the rocks, the leaves that covered the ground.

 

 

After what seemed like an eternity, since her legs had become accustomed to the narrow spaces of the ship, they came in sight of what reminded her of the Viking camp that she had seen on the beaches of Wessex in what seemed to her another life. There were several tents, some bigger and with a more solid look, others just improvised and large fires placed in front of some of them, before which several men were eating their dinner.

 

 

"Clarke, stay close to me." Lexa had come up behind her like magic, and Clarke jumped to hear her whispered voice so close, but she didn't have to think twice about it, and she walked with Lexa and Anya towards the center of the camp. As had happened to her before, she felt observed by everyone as she walked among the tents, the gray and long monastic robe so different from the clothes that all the others wore, but tried not to be intimidated, since she couldn’t afford it.

  
  


 

She suddenly noticed a dark-skinned woman approaching them with a firm step, her facial features hard and her expression serious and worried, followed by a tall, bald and muscular man with slightly lighter skin but with the same dark shade that Clarke had only seen a few times in her life, at the court of King Wallace. Behind them walked a girl with the face painted with the same war painting that Clarke had seen on Anya, a threatening gaze on her face, dressed in rudimentary leather armor.

  
  


 

The woman and Lexa tightened their arms in a more formal than an affectionate greeting, but Clarke managed to glimpse a smile in the hard face of who, in her opinion, couldn’t be other than the famous Indra that Lexa had told her about. The two women talked for a few minutes, until the newcomer seemed to notice Clarke, observing her with curiosity and suspicion.

 

 

Lexa switched to English then, which increased the surprise in the other woman's look "Indra, this is Clarke from Wessex..." Indra looked her up and down with a vaguely threatening expression "You took a nun..." Lexa looked into her eyes and continued undaunted "She is a healer and she saved my life while we were in England... We are all her debtors, so try to be kind." At those words Indra's hostility seemed to drop slightly, but not that of the girl behind her, who spat to the ground "English bastards..."

  
  


 

Clarke felt a chill in seeing the hatred in the young woman's eyes, but Lexa resumed talking in a reassuring voice "Clarke, as you may have guessed this is Indra, and this is Lincoln, her son." The tall man looked at her with an expression that was almost kind, compared to those of the two women, and Clarke tried to smile at him as best she could "And the lovely creature behind him is Octavia, his wife. Don't worry, she won't bother you, won’t you, Octavia?” The girl looked down, muttering something that Clarke couldn't catch.

  
  


 

"Anya!" A girl had emerged from one of the tents, interrupting their conversation, and was walking towards them with a huge smile on her face, despite limping badly. Clarke saw Anya's face change completely at the sight of the girl, the rigid, authoritative expression she usually carried replaced by a mixture of relief and joy so great that Clarke almost found it hard to recognize her. 

  
  


 

The girl literally threw herself into Anya's arms and she hugged her, then kissed her with so much transport that Clarke was forced to look away, so as not to blush any further. She had found another very different thing from her culture.

  
  


 

Lexa cleared her throat and the two women reluctantly parted, Anya continuing to look at the other as if she had come out of a dream "They told me you were missing... I was afraid of not seeing you again." 

  
  


 

The girl smiled softly at her "During the attack I was injured, and they captured me... But Octavia was still in the village and managed to free me along with another couple of men. When we arrived at the camp, Gustus's messenger had already left."

  
  


 

"Fortunately you're safe Raven, we were very worried, especially Anya." Anya's face blushed slightly at that statement "I wasn't worried at all." Lexa shook her head "Clarke, this is Raven, my cousin's partner."

  
  


 

Clarke turned to take a closer look at the girl, noticing how her complexion was like Lincoln's, only slightly lighter. The girl's dark eyes shone with interest in seeing her "It is a pleasure to meet you, Clarke. And Lexa, thank you for bringing her back to me alive.” Raven shook Anya's arm in amusement and the warrior passed her hand through her black hair, holding her close.

  
  


 

Gustus arrived at that moment, shortness of breath and worried expression "Nia has heard of your arrival, and she’s preparing her men to defend the city." Lexa nodded and looked at the others around her, waiting for orders "Gustus, tell the men to get ready, we have to leave immediately if we want to take advantage of the little surprise left to us. Anya, you'll lead the front line, Lincoln, you think about organizing the archers. We will attack from the south, where the defenses are weaker, while Indra and her men will move east. Octavia, you will stay here in the field with a dozen men, in case Nia decides to play some tricks on us."

  
  


 

Octavia looked at Lexa furiously "You can't cut me out of the battle!" But Lexa's expression remained unmoved "In your condition I can't take you into battle Octavia, you know it, I didn't want you in England for that." Only at that moment Clarke realized the reason for Lexa's words: Octavia was pregnant. Lincoln touched her shoulder, whispering to her something Clarke couldn't understand, and the girl seemed to calm down a little.

  
  


 

"I entrust you with Clarke and Raven safety as long as I am in battle..." "You what?" Clarke and Octavia spoke in unison, looking at each other, confused "I will not nurse an English woman. She can die here as far as I'm concerned." 

  
  


 

Clarke didn't understand what she had ever done to Octavia to deserve so much hate at first sight, but at that moment she had something more important to think about "Lexa, you can't fight in your condition. You have to stay here." 

  
  


 

As they heard her words, everyone fell silent around them, and Clarke feared she had exaggerated. Lexa's gaze fell on her, stern and impassive "It's not something that concerns you Clarke. I am the commander and I will lead my men in battle." 

  
  


 

At those words Clarke felt a surge of anger rise inside her. "It doesn’t concern me? I spent a nightmare night trying to keep you alive with a threat of death on my head if I hadn't succeeded, you tore me from my village, forced to follow you beyond the sea, all to spend a week vomiting and trying not to get your damn wound infected on that dirty ship and now you tell me that it doesn't concern me? That I did everything for nothing, because you can’t stay on the sidelines for once? You’re going to get yourself killed with that wound!"

  
  


 

Clarke ended her speech breathlessly, wondering for a moment why she really cared so much about Lexa's health. Of course, she was the only security of salvation she had among that unknown people, and Clarke didn't want to think about what would happen to her if Lexa died. But a part of her, a part she couldn't admit to herself, was really worried about Lexa's fate.

  
  


 

"So this is goodbye, Clarke." Lexa's voice sounded fatal and final between them and, though Clarke wanted to withdraw her claims, her pride was too strong to back out at that moment "When the wound opens and gets infected again, don’t come to me for help." With those words she left, leaving everyone stunned. 

 

She run away, not before hearing Indra laughs "She has courage, I must admit that... "

  
  


 

Clarke kept walking until she reached a deserted corner of the camp, her heart heavy and her soul lost, and she felt a tear run down her face at the thought of all that had happened to her. She was alone and lost in a foreign land, full of people who hated her and her people. And above all, she admitted to herself with reluctance, that could be the last time she saw Lexa. She tried to banish the thought from her mind, closing her eyes and taking refuge in the prayers she now knew by heart. All she could to do was pray, and wait for the battle to end.

  
  


 

*****

 

 

Lexa looked at the array of men in front of her with extreme disappointment. She recognized some of them, men of the old guard who had served the previous Jarl, and who had obviously responded to Nia's call when she moved against her.

  
  


 

Her men were in formation, ready to charge, but Lexa sought a particular face in the crowd of enemies. When she found it, she felt the anger that had held up until now to mount inside her. Roan, Nia's son, walked slowly toward her, walking near the line of shields of his men. 

  
  
  


She still remembered him a few years ago, kneeling before her after she killed his father, while his mother pleaded for his life. Roan had tried to hit her after she won the duel, but her men had protected her.

  
  


 

Now he smiled, looking at her with a threatening expression. Lexa took up the sword, and shouted to her men to leave for the attack. The swords began crashing into the shields as her men sang a war song, and Lexa felt her heart beat at the rhythm of those improvised war drums. Sensing the intentions of her enemy, Lexa dropped her shield to the ground. In a duel, it was only going to get in her way.

  
  


 

Roan, unsheathed his sword, was walking towards her, his long hair braided behind his back, his arms uncovered with more tattoos than Lexa remembered. He had put white paint in two regular strips that cut his eyes vertically. Lexa's men started running around her, heading for the enemy soldiers, but Lexa and Roan seemed to be immune to the chaos around them, too focused on each other.

  
  


 

Lexa didn't look away from his eyes for a moment, sensing a few seconds before it happened the moment he started running towards her, his sword drawn. Lexa parried the blow and the clash of weapons echoed in her ears. Roan spun around, aiming at her legs, but Lexa moved quickly, avoiding the blow and lowering the sword on the man's exposed arm.

  
  


 

Roan took off just in time to avoid losing his arm, but Lexa still managed to hurt him. The man swore between his teeth and hurled himself back at her, aiming at her chest. Lexa stepped back and swerved, trying to hit his injured arm again, but Roan, in spite of his powerful build, was incredibly fast, and that could have been fatal to her with the compromised arm already beginning to make itself felt. They looked at each other for a moment, turning around with heavy breath, and the man smiled at her "This time you're mine, Lexa."

  
  


 

Lexa didn’t have time to reply, as he charged again with a blow that, if it had hit, could have cut her in two. Lexa parried the blow again, this time feeling distinctly the points that Clarke had placed on the wound break with a sharp crack, and barely held back a groan. Roan seemed to understand that something was wrong and tried to take advantage of it to hit her again, but before he could do it a cloud of arrows fell over them, hitting Roan in the right leg. The man screamed in pain and Lexa hesitated for a second too long.

  
  


 

One of Nia's men dropped onto her and pushed her away, helping Roan to his feet, dragging him towards their ranks. Lexa tried to follow him, but there were still too many men on her way. She took back the shield and, throwing a cry of exasperation, threw herself back into battle. The ground beneath her feet was beginning to get slippery with blood, and the enemy lines began to falter. Behind them the men led by Lincoln continued to shoot arrows at the enemy, and in the distance Lexa could hear Indra's men fighting; the battle for the reconquest of Polis had just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took so long, but I hope it was worth the wait. As usual, let me know what you think about it here or on Tumblr (I'm minevamason there too), it really helps me to have your feedback for the story! I'll see you next time, hopefully sooner!


End file.
